Even though she complained terribly about his cooking, she always ate whatever he prepared.
He cleaned the kitchen, tuning out her running commentary on the afternoon soaps. He refilled Ruby’s iced tea and served her the second bowl of soup.
“Gonna rush off like you always do?”
The ever-present weight on his shoulders got heavier. “I can stay awhile.” He collected the tray of dishes and returned to the kitchen to rinse, dry and put them away.
“I don’t need you. Just saying that you never stay long.”
Always rushing between work, sentinel duty and the youth center, he rarely stayed long anywhere.
Except when he spent time with Nel.
He handed Ruby a cup of hot tea then sat in the overstuffed chair next to the couch, trying to relax his mind.
Something jabbed his leg. He opened his eyes, eyes that he hadn’t realized had closed.
“You work too much.” Ruby poked him again with her cane. “How are you going to find a mate when all you do is work, work, work? I ain’t gonna be around forever to take care of you.”
Tristan bit his tongue. “I don’t want a mate.”
“Something wrong with ya?” She prodded for the third time.
“No,” he said, a little too defensively.
“You afraid?”
Hell, yeah, he was afraid.
“Mateships are doomed in our family,” he said quietly.
Ruby fell silent, her gaze focused on the large flat-screen TV Tristan had given her. He couldn’t tell by her tired, fixed expression if she’d taken offense at his remark or simply lost interest.
Tristan stood and stretched. “I have to go,” he said, leaning down to collect her empty dishes.
“Always thought you were the smart one in the family. Too smart for your breeches sometimes.” She pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and spread it across her thin legs. “Don’t be stupid and screw up your life.”
“I’m trying hard not to, Ruby.”
“Are you? Cuz the way I see it, you’re determined to be miserable. It’s like you ain’t learnt nothing from us.”
Oh, he’d learned plenty. That was the problem.
* * *
For the hundredth time, Tristan rubbed his runny, stuffy nose.
The wolfan flu sucked! It came with high fever, chills, body aches and a killer headache.
He hadn’t had it since he was a kid. As a healthy male in his prime, to be waylaid by it now was humiliating.
He opened the refrigerator door. The shelves were stocked with fruit, lunch meat, a couple of beers and leftover pizza.
Blech!
He wished he had some of the soup he’d made Ruby. Wishing didn’t make any materialize, so he slammed the door and shuffled to the sink. He filled a glass with water and downed the contents before returning to his fortress of blankets on the couch.
His phone rang and his shoulders sank at the ringtone.
If he had any sense, he’d send the caller to voice mail then delete the message.
“You still living?” Ruby’s critical voice sounded over the speakerphone.
“I’m breathing.” Wouldn’t necessarily call that living.
“I won’t be for long.” She coughed. “My inhaler is almost empty.”
“Did you call in the prescription?”
“Wouldn’t do no good to call you if I didn’t.”
“Ask Jaxen to pick it up.”
“Why can’t you bring it?”
“I’m sick, Ruby.” As if on cue, he began coughing like he was hacking up a lung.
“You gotta get well. There’s a lightbulb in the kitchen that needs changing.”
“Jaxen can take care of it.”
“He’s busy. You always do it for me.”
“Anything else you need fixed?”
“I ain’t a house inspector.”
Tristan blew a long breath. “I’ll come by when I feel better.”
Disconnecting the call, he rolled off the couch, his joints achy and his muscles sore. His left leg trembled in a light spasm. “Man, this sucks.”
Sucked worse to be sick and alone.
He hobbled into the bathroom, shucked off his sweatpants and stepped into the shower, hoping to cool the raging fever. Unfortunately, the cold water triggered hard, rocking chills. He towel-dried as quickly as possible and staggered into the bedroom for a clean sweatshirt, sweatpants and socks. He even pulled on a wool skullcap. Too exhausted to make it back to the living room, he collapsed onto the bed.
Hours later, the pounding in his head jarred him awake. Groggy, he sat up.
The pounding continued, but it wasn’t just inside his head.
He struggled to his feet. With great effort, he made it as far as the bedroom doorway. The door frame provided the support he needed to catch his breath and garner the strength to make it into the living room.
“Tristan!” Nel shouted. “Open the door. Your truck is in the parking lot, so I know you’re home.”
A strange current fired down his spine and spread into his limbs, causing incoordination in his steps, but he made it to the front door.
“What are you doing here?”
Her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line. Her face was pale and uncertain.
A fiery heat flushed Tristan’s skin and he broke into a sweat. “What’s wrong?”
He saw her mouth move but coherent words failed to reach his ears. His head felt swarmy, his body felt much too heavy, and then a violent surge shook him head to foot. His shoulder and hip absorbed the impact of the fall.
Tremor after tremor rolled through his body. His muscles hardened and seized until it felt like the fibers would rip from the tendons.
Discordant facial spasms caused his teeth to chomp his tongue until his jaw locked. He tasted blood. His eyes shuttered like a slideshow stuck in fast advance mode.
He wasn’t quite sure he was breathing or if he was simply shaking so hard that the outside air was forced into his nostrils and down into his lungs.
Darkness advanced from the outer edge of his vision. His thoughts began to splinter.
He was a fool for not telling Nel he loved her. And now she’d never know.
Chapter 32
Nel sank beside Tristan convulsing on the floor. Her rational brain knew this had nothing to do with the news she’d delivered; still, the insecure part of her brain latched onto the fear that he was absolutely and utterly horrified, so much so that it induced a stroke.
A door down the outdoor walkway opened and a familiar-looking woman wearing a Taylor’s T-shirt peeked out. “I heard a scream. Is everything okay?” Her gaze registered the scene. “Shit!”
She dashed to another apartment and pounded on the door until it opened. Shane stepped outside.
“It’s Tristan,” the woman said. “He passed out in his doorway.”
Tristan’s tremors eased and Nel touched his sweat-streaked face. “He’s burning up.”
“What happened?” Shane knelt beside Nel.
“He had a seizure,” Nel said, thankful she wasn’t alone in the crisis.
“Angeline, grab his feet. I’ll get his shoulders.” Shane stepped over Tristan to get into position. “If he has another seizure, he might shift. We have to get him out of the doorway.”
Nel glanced from Shane to Angeline. Cassie and Grace had mentioned a correlation between the pack and the Co-op, but Nel hadn’t made any associations yet.
“It’s okay, Nel. We know that you know about Wahyas.” Angeline wrapped her hands around Tristan’s ankles. “We’re a tight community.”
“That’s code for gossip mill.” Shane hooked his arms under Tristan’s shoulders.
“You’re the blabbermouth who told me.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “On three.”
He and Angeline lifted and carried Tristan to the couch.
“He probably has the wolfan flu,” Angeline said, stepping into the kitchen to wet a cloth. “It’s running through the entire pack. I had it last week, but not this bad.”
“I’m calling Doc.” Phone in hand, Shane stepped away.
Angeline handed Nel the damp cloth.
“Thanks.” Nel placed the cool rag against Tristan’s forehead. He moaned and moved restlessly but didn’t open his eyes. Nel perched next to him, running her hand along his arm.
“Your scent might calm him,” Angeline said. “Place your hand to his face.”
Nel cupped his whiskered cheek and he turned, pressing his nose into her palm.
He inhaled deeply, a weak smile trembled his lips and he sighed her name.
“Oh, Tristan.” There were dark shadows beneath his closed eyes. His face was thin and had several days’ worth of beard growth. His dry lips were cracked almost to the point of bleeding.
“Doc is sending an ambulance.” Shane sat in the sofa chair.
“Did anyone know Tristan was sick?” Nel asked.
“About the only time I see him is when he comes into Taylor’s,” Angeline said.
“He’s missed some sentinel duties, but I heard he was taking time off.” Worry creased Shane’s brow. He glanced at Nel. “I figured with all the stuff going on, he needed some space.”
Nel had thought the same when she called after returning from Atlanta on Sunday afternoon. Tristan had been on duty but said they would talk later. She called again Monday and Tuesday, leaving messages both times.
Even if he considered their affair over, it was out of character for him to ignore a call. Which was why she’d showed up at his door.
The front door opened.
“How’s he doing?” A woman, with the name Anderson stamped above the medical insignia on the upper left side of her dark blue T-shirt, came in.
“Still out,” Shane said. “Is that normal?”
“Depends on what’s wrong with him.” Anderson took Nel’s seat. “Did he hit his head when he fell?”
“No,” Nel answered, easing onto a counter bar stool to stay out of the way.
Anderson flashed a penlight into Tristan’s eyes, listened to his heart with the stethoscope, took his pulse and blood pressure, and ran a device over his forehead. “His vitals are good and strong, but he has a high temperature.”
Two men appeared at the door with a gurney. A flurry of activity surrounded the couch.
Flashbacks of being pulled from the wreckage after the car accident that killed her parents rushed through Nel’s mind. Her throat closed and she choked on the breath stuck in her windpipe.
“He’ll be okay,” Angeline assured. “Doc is the best there is.”
Shane came over. “They want something with your scent to keep Tristan calm on the ride to the hospital.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Give him something you’ve worn close to the skin,” Angeline said. “It will have your scent on it.”
Nel removed the short-sleeved summer sweater she wore over her sundress and gave it to Shane. He handed it off to Anderson, who placed the garment on Tristan’s chest before the other paramedics wheeled him out of the apartment.
“I know where Tristan keeps his spare key. I’ll lock up, so you go ahead to the hospital,” Angeline said.
“Thanks.” Nel’s hands shook taking her keys out of her dress pocket.
“I can give you a ride, Nel,” Shane offered.
“Thanks, but I’d rather take my car.” That way, she wouldn’t be stuck at the hospital if Tristan didn’t want her to stay.
“Then I’ll drive you in your car and catch a ride back from someone later.”
Gratefully, Nel handed him the keys.
Shane gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Tristan’s a tough guy. He’ll be as good as new in no time.”
Nel hoped so. She certainly couldn’t face what was coming alone.
* * *
Smothered in oppressive darkness, Tristan sensed a gentle, sweet presence nearby. “Nel?”
“I’m here.”
His heart received a needed jolt and he struggled to shake off the weighty lethargy.
At the cool touch of soft lips pressed against his brow, he found the strength to open his eyes.
“Hey there,” she said, smiling. A halo of soft light surrounded her head and shoulders. God, she was beautiful.
Mine!
Though distant, the declaration continued to drum softly in his mind.
“Where am I?” His sigh took great effort.
“You had a febrile seizure. You’re in the emergency clinic.”
“What?” He tried to sit up.
“Shhh.” She placed her hand against his shoulder. “Save your strength. You aren’t going anywhere until you finish getting fluids into your system.”
Tristan looked at the tubing stuck in his arm and tethered to an IV bag.
“You’re severely dehydrated,” Nel said. “But Doctor Habersham said you shouldn’t suffer any permanent damage.”
Tristan toyed with her fingers. “How did the meeting go with Gilbert?”
Nel’s eyes sparkled despite the worry lines crinkling the corners. “He selected a few of my pieces for his local artists display and he’s invited me to participate in his annual Extravagance d’Art d’Automne charity gala.”
“Fantastic.”
“Yeah.” A shy smile plumped her pink cheeks. “It’s kind of a big deal.”
“I know.” Tristan resisted the urge to kiss her knuckles. Kiss her cheek.
Kiss her mouth, hard and deep, branding her with his tongue. “I’ve attended a few with my mother.”
Nel smoothed back his hair. “How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty,” he said with a slight cough. “My throat is dry and scratchy. I feel like I swallowed a sandbag.”
Nel lifted the plastic pitcher from the bedside tray, poured water into a small paper cup and held it to his mouth. Tristan molded his lips around the straw and sucked down the entire contents. The coolness eased the burn in his throat. “Thanks.”
She started to pour another cup but he waved her to stop.
“I’m glad you came by the apartment on your way back from Atlanta. I’ve been wondering how the meeting went.”
“Tristan, it’s Wednesday evening.”
“What?”
“I called you Sunday afternoon, but you were on duty and couldn’t talk. Do you remember?”
Tristan focused his achy brain. Somewhere in the grogginess, he vaguely recalled speaking with Nel.
“I phoned again on Monday and Tuesday because you never called back.”
“I must’ve been out it.” Tristan shook his head. “I wouldn’t intentionally ignore you.”
A shadow of doubt crossed her features. “Do you remember what I said when you opened the door?”
“No.” All he remembered was the rush of happiness when he saw her face, even though her brow had been wrinkled with worry and her eyes filled with uncertainty. Had she been afraid of how he’d receive her?
His fault, really. He hadn’t reached out to her since the unfortunate incident with Jaxen at the sanctuary.
“I’m pregnant.” Nel’s words exploded in his ears and the repercussive force deafened him to her voice.
Disbelief. Betrayal. Jealousy. Outrage.
He didn’t know what to feel first.
They’d never discussed exclusivity, he’d just assumed.
If Nel was pregnant, she had to be sleeping with someone else. Tris
tan couldn’t be the child’s father because he’d never claimed Nel as his mate.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Angry, she jabbed a pointed index finger at him. “I have never cheated on anyone in my life, so don’t say that I did.”
Tristan inhaled sharply and locked his emotions inside his chest. “I haven’t claimed you, Nel. Pregnancy can’t occur unless—”
“—you bite me during sex,” she interrupted. “I know. Cassie and Grace told me.”
“Then you should understand it’s not possible for me to be the baby’s father.”
“Our first time, during the storm. Remember how the thunder startled me and I bumped you in the nose? You nipped me, right here.” Nel swept her hair off one shoulder and tapped the spot where her neck and shoulder joined.
Tristan stilled. “It would have to break the skin.”
“It did,” she said, her gaze unflinching. “After the condom broke and I went into the bathroom, I noticed a small abrasion and cleaned it with a damp cloth. It was only a tiny amount, but there was blood.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Apparently it does.” Nel perched on the side of the bed. “I was so nauseous when your mom came by my apartment on Saturday that she took me to her doctor thinking I had a virus. I asked him for a pregnancy test. It was positive.”
“This can’t be happening.” Tristan’s stomach churned. Now he was the one who felt nauseous. He sat up, swinging his legs over the opposite side of the bed from where Nel sat.
“Counting back, this happened the night you bit me and the condom broke.”
“Unbelievable!”
“I expected you might be upset.” She blew out a disappointed breath. “I’m prepared to do this on my own, if necessary.”
“Nel.” Tristan reached for her hand. “I haven’t fully processed the news that I’m going to be a dad. What kills me is that I forced a mate-claim on you.”
“You didn’t force anything. The bite might’ve been an accident, but can you honestly tell me that everything that followed wasn’t the real us?”
No, he couldn’t. Tristan had been more real, more himself with Nel than with anyone.
Charmed by the Wolf Page 22
